


The Ghost of the Loch

by CozyCryptidCorner



Series: Pride Month Prompts [2]
Category: Original Work, exophilia - Fandom
Genre: F/F, Human/Monster Romance, Kelpie - Freeform, Water Fae, fae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 12:25:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19084984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CozyCryptidCorner/pseuds/CozyCryptidCorner
Summary: A short run-in with a ghostly woman out bathing in the lake.***If you are reading this on any third party apps (such as unofficialao3), or on any platform besides AO3, Tumblr, and Wattpad, then you are reading stolen work. I do not give consent for my stories to be published or pulled elsewhere.***





	The Ghost of the Loch

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Pride Month!!
> 
> To celebrate, I am asking all of my followers to submit to me LGBT+ prompts on my [Tumblr page.](https://cozycryptidcorner.tumblr.com/) I am trying to do as many as possible! If you have a prompt, please feel absolutely free to send it to me! If I don't do it this month, I might still do it later if it's really good.

While checking out the ruins of an ancient castle, its stones and masonry crumbled with age and time, you wander away from the rest of the backpacking group. You can still hear them, mind, taking pictures and awing over the architecture, but you leave their line of vision to go back outside. The air has an unfamiliar crispness to it, sharp, unrefined, the lack of pollution like cool relief to your lungs. Just a few meters down, the land turns to a marsh, the reedy grass stopping abruptly as the ground level drops into the lake. The mirror-like water ripples as the breeze whips through the valley, and you pull your jacket tighter.

 

You follow the pebbly path, arms crossed over your chest, cheeks stinging in the briskness the wind carries. As you meander, you’re fiddling with your camera, switching through the modes until the settings are how you want. Testing to see how the picture will take, you click the button, launching the shutter, then glance down at the screen to look over the result. There’s a speck in the back, at the other end of the lake, one you hadn’t noticed when you looked at the spot yourself. It seems like… a person?

 

There she is, you realize as you squint in that direction, wearing white, hip-deep in the water. You look back down at your camera, mouth in a firm line, and then make the split-second decision to walk all the way around the lake.  _There aren’t a lot of portraits in your portfolio, might as well ask her to pose,_  you try to reason with yourself, fingers screwing with the shutter speed, just to have something to do. The people who look over your photos for prospective jobs always like good stories behind the art.

 

Though you aren’t one hundred percent prepared to deal with some random woman that is bathing in what  _must_  be a near-freezing lake, you get within just a few paces of the marsh’s foggy edge, well within her range of vision. You weren’t able to discern just how beautiful she is from the distance of the first picture, but up this close, she almost stuns you into a coma.

 

Her hair is almost black enough to be a void, seemingly sucking all light from the air around it, falling in long, thick tresses down her back and into the water. Against the paleness of her skin, the strands of hair seem like part of space; empty of everything. When she looks up at you, you notice a smattering of pale freckles across her cheeks and nose, the same along her shoulders. And, in a brief jolt of panic, you realize that she is not, in fact, wearing white clothes, she is simply very pale, and also very naked.

 

“I’m sorry!” You throw up a hand to cover your face. “I didn’t, um, I didn’t realize that you weren’t wearing any clothes, ma’am. I’ll be going now.”

 

“Where?”

 

Her question throws you off guard. “Um, where what?”

 

“Where will you be going?”

 

Fingers still firmly over your eyes, you stop your hasty retreat. “I… will be going back to those ruins. I’m with my friends, we’re just exploring. I’ll make sure no one comes this way, I promise.”

 

“Will you be back?”

 

Again, you aren’t sure what she is getting at. “What do you mean?”

 

“Uncover your eyes, traveler, I’m not shy.”

 

Hesitantly, you allow your fingers to part barely enough to make eye contact. God, her eyes are just ridiculously bright, like a prominent star in the night sky. You think her iris is a shade of violet, but you are too far away to be certain.

 

“I haven’t had visitors in so long, you see. I don’t mind your presence much.” The water splashes as she takes a step back.

 

You fully take your hand away from your eyes, giving her another once over. “Do you live out here by yourself, then?”

 

“Oh, yes. I typically don’t like being around other people.” Her nose wrinkles slightly, as though a bad memory dances across the forefront of her mind. “I enjoy the solitude, but I also enjoy a good conversation every now and then.”

 

“I think I can agree with that sentiment to some degree.”

 

“What’s that in your hand?”

 

Your fingers had gone back to fiddling with the lenses. “Oh, this? This is my camera. I had been taking pictures of nature, the castle. I was going to ask you if I could take yours, um, not realizing you were naked.”

 

“How does it work?”

 

You show her, taking a photo of an interestingly shaped rock up on the nearest hill, spinning the little black box around so she could see it appear on the screen. Her head cocks, slowly, eyes dancing over and around the photo with a curious gaze.

 

“Marvelous,” she finally states, giving you a dazzling smile. “I should think that I would like to see myself in that manner, yes. Take my picture.”

 

The request takes you by surprise, but you comply, shooting a good couple of steps back for a proper angle. The green of the grass, the strange darkness of the lake, and the paleness of the woman’s skin make for a fantastic photograph, one that you think would look well enough lined up with your other grand accomplishments. You’re even impressed with yourself as you glance over the screen, lips pursed, fingers messing with the exposure setting to try and get something a little more hauntingly vibrant.

 

Even she is readily fascinated with your skill as you show the final product, her damp body stepping out of the lake to look over your shoulder.

 

“I look like a ghost,” she says, clearly satisfied with both your execution of the photo and her appearance against the blackness of the water.

 

“And, um, I have to ask.” You wish you’d had the foresight to carry some legal papers, you have known some photographers had this swing back around and bite them in the ass. “But may I use these photos in my professional portfolio? People will see it, I might even print it out and hang in a gallery if I get famous enough.”

 

“Like an artist?” She muses, her voice soft and soothing. “It would be interesting to have people know my image, but not who I am or where I hail from.”

 

“You can say no,” you add, though it pains you to do so. “I’ll delete the photos while you watch.”

 

After a soft hum of thought, she shakes her head. “Take me all around the world, traveler. Show me the highest peaks and the lowest canyons, the richest palaces and the poorest slums. Let people from all around the world see the face of a Scotland Loch. When all is said and done, bring me back something from your journeys when you wish to return. I’ll be waiting.”

 

Something in her tone makes you sad, as though she has never had the means to see the world for herself.

 

“I will make a small print,” you promise, “and take it with me wherever I go. When the photo is full of happy memories and experiences, I will bring it back for you to keep.”

Her smile almost knocks you off your feet. “I shall keep you to your word, traveler.”

 

“What’s your name? So I know who to come looking for when is over.” You just realize that no proper introductions have been said.

 

“I am Fíona.”

 

“Oh,” something familiar sparks in your brain. The loch, when you saw it on the map, holds the same title. “So you were named after this lake?"

 

“Actually,” she says almost proudly, “the loch was named for me.”

 

It almost doesn’t register, but you don’t put too much thought in it. “Alright, then, I’ll look for Fíona, the person, not the lake.” You hold out your hand to shake, as a symbol of a deal.

 

At first, she looks at your hand as though she doesn’t know what to do. Then, slowly, she raises her palm to met yours, her skin warm to the touch despite previously being in the freezing water. Her grasp is firm, her fingers strong, so utterly unexpected from her delicate, thin body. You shake her hand once, then pull back with a peculiar amount of resistance from her skin, almost like you had to peel yourself away.

 

“Goodbye, Fíona.” You take a step back. “It was lovely meeting you.”

 

“It was lovely meeting you as well, traveler. Godspeed on your adventure.”

 

As you return to the ruins, a dull thumping hits your ears. Turning around, you see a horse, up against the shore of the loch. Its flank is white, speckled with dozens of dark freckles in a pattern you almost recognize, a luscious mane dragging against the wind as it gallops away, wild, beautiful, free.

**Author's Note:**

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